on tv and Quebec City

Day 59 - August 8

Coughing spells in the night force me downstairs in our hostel out of consideration for obedmates. Icurl up with the only Anglo novel, which doesnt seem to deserve all of its jacket praise and pass out on the narrow, unfallasleepable bench. Wake early for first breakfast - free- stuf ourselves. The rain pours down again leaving akin to Mtl so we are trapped. We talk to a girl from Jersey but interrupted a friendly yet to the point Parisian. Procrastinate and attempt to arrange for accomodations since the hostel is bookedfor the 2nd night... In any case I truck on through this mediocre novel (Judith Guest?), appalled by the comical dialogue and description, but surprised by the occasional quality line (and eventual development). We walk the streets more, avoiding the tourist trap, and find a cheap little hotel right on the fort wall - perfect.

Day 58 - August 7

In the morning out of desperation and lack of facilities I wipe myself with the beloved Richler. The most beautiful ride yet - Kate txts to say G left his goodie bag. and cheese. Picturesque old villages dot the St. Lawrence and the people are friendly even if we can't communicate. A million cyclists on the sunny road today. get another front flat and start complaining so G buys me a cookie. The amazing ride takes us through the countryside, only getting hilly around Quebec, whre the incline is easily near 20 degrees. We decide to stop short and stay inside the Old City.

Day 57 - August 6

Wake up late for Global TV interview but make it in time (I need very little makeup) - 5 minute bit goes well except I mention the website several times without actually saying what it is. Coffee and goodbyes into a torrential thunderstorm. The floodgates of heaven open upon our heads, but we take solace in the promise that the original Flood was a one time deal. An amazing ride through piles of water and zero, dark visibility. Finally a break for lunch, still ominus but it holds off. I get a front flat. Rt 138 is quaint - all small towns speckling the side roadwith no spaces between. The bike pathsvary b/w painted lines ongravel paths, siewalks, and legitimacy. Trois-Riviers takes us through industrial shipping before dropping us in a pseudo-Yaletown. The most beautiful population per capita I've seen since Europe. We leave and barely make it to Champlain, running out of light. and squatting on a campground.